Part 7

We came to the Zone. "Aha!" says I to meself, "so this is the patch Fritz has picked to try his luck with us as a target!" I kept wishin' for a sight of him. Sure, I stayed awake nights worryin' for fear the convoy sent out to meet us would be so good it would scare all the subs away. It was nearin' the point where we expected the sub chasers to meet us that I got me wish.

It was about five in the afternoon with the sun goin' down like a red balloon, when we sighted a raft with a barrel propped up at one end. There were two fellows aboard her, in a bad way from the looks of them, stripped to their waists, wavin' their shirts to us for help.

We had been after hearin' how dangerous it was to stop your engine in the Zone and rescue survivors, but good God! who'd have the heart to pass those poor fellows by! Perhaps they had wives and kids at home same as us. We drew up about five hundred yards from them and started to lower the boat when the raft rose out of the water and turned over and the men dived off. Under it we saw the deck of a submarine, the barrel still on her periscope.

It's trapped we were by her dirty trick! She struck us amidships and then submerged. There wasn't time to fire. We were sinkin' stern first. The boats were swung down and I started to get into me own when I remembered the wife's picture! Sure, I had to have it! There wasn't no two ways about it. I just wouldn't get off the ship without it. Someone called to me to come on. Someone pulled me arm. But I tore it loose.

"It's goin' back I am," I told him.

"You're crazy! She'll be down in four minutes."

"I tell you, it's goin' back I am. . . ."

And he let me go. I guess he thought he'd done his best to save a poor loon. All hands were on deck. I made for the hatchway and found it fillin' with water. The furniture was floatin' around like the little toys the kid puts in the bath tub.

I fought me way to me bunk. Over it I'd nailed the picture. I felt with me hands until I found it. I tore it off the wall and stuffed it in me shirt, then I started out. The water was clean up to me waist and pourin' in. The force of it sent the chairs and tables crashin' against the wall. I dodged them and found the stairs. They were submerged. It's on me hands and knees I crawled, until I reached the top. The water poured in on me.

I found the deck deserted. I looked down. A few boats were bobbin' on the waves. I dived off. When I came up it did me eyes good to see a boat a few yards away. I swam toward it and they pulled me in. A seaman named Doyle and another called Hooper were good strokes. They rowed all eighteen of us away out when the cruiser went down.

About a hundred yards from us was a boat full of our officers. It was decidin' to follow them we were, when the submarine came to surface again. She was after knowin' which boat held officers, too--no doubt about that, because she trained her machine gun on the lot of them without wastin' time, and opened fire. Yes, by God! shootin' on men adrift in a lifeboat!

That's a sample of Hun fightin' I won't forget in a hurry! I'd have given me life and that of all me dear ones just then for a chance to cut the throats of those cool devils on her deck, pumpin' death into that boat load of helpless youngsters. . . .

We expected to get it next and it's ready for them we were. I hoped with all me heart and soul that they'd come close enough to hear the names I was callin' them. But they didn't honor us--not them. They figured that we were all enlisted men, not worth wastin' a shot on, for they submerged.

It was growin' dark, but there was still light enough for us to take stock of our fodder. All lifeboats are well equipped--provided with ten gallon barrels of water, and with tins of bacon and crackers. It's glad to find the food and water we were. The chances were pretty fair of our bein' rescued in a day or two. That was good, seein' we hadn't a compass and most of us was green. We couldn't even pick the stars and none of us knew seamanship.

We could do nothin' but wait until mornin' and pray for the sight of a sail. Mornin' came. We were stiff, 'part from wet clothes and 'part from the hard boards on which we'd been lyin'.

There were four boys aboard--just kids, not more than eighteen or nineteen. It's game they were, all right. They were the life of that gang. It's "Cheer up, they'll find us to-day," they'd tell us.

One of them was bubblin' over with spirits. He was a big, blond kid called Terry. He was one of the gun's crew and I'd liked him from the start. He appointed himself C. P. O. in charge of the chow and dished out the crackers and bacon to us, jokin' about our table de hôte and sayin' he'd try to do better next meal.

Some of the older men aboard shook their heads over the way we was eatin'.

"Better hold back on the rations and water," they warned us. "We ain't rescued yet."

But we laughed them down. We felt sure some ship must have caught our S. O. S. the night before. It stood to reason help was hurryin' toward us.

We took turns scannin' the horizon. It wasn't hard, because the sky was cloudy. We didn't say so, but it's hopin' we were that there wouldn't be a squall. It wasn't long before the water grew choppy and a mist came up. Some of the men were glooms for fair.

"Fog risin'. We couldn't see a ship if she was alongside of us," they growled.

The boys wouldn't be downed.

"We'll shout just to show them we're here," they said, and, at intervals all that long night, their voices rang out, but no answer did we get.

Along toward mornin' it began to rain in earnest. We caught the raindrops in our mouths. We decided to start economizin' in water. It cleared up the third day and the sun came out. It burned our wet faces. Some of the men slept, but most of us kept a lookout. Help must be comin' soon. We didn't know in what direction land lay. Sure, we'd pull toward the north, then hold a council and decide it was the wrong way after all, so we'd start off due east. But we didn't row as hard as we had the first day--not by a long sight. Some of the men were against goin' away too far from the place where our ship went down.

"If we'd stayed around there we'd have been picked up by now."

The men were gettin' sulky, blamin' each other.

"Sure, if you'd listened to me----" we all started off.

Only Terry didn't get sore. He and the other three kids wouldn't give up hopin'.

"Oh, they'll find us by another day," he'd grin. "What's bitin' you all?"

The fourth day dawned and slipped by. No help. The fifth day came, and with it a storm that tossed our boat from the crest of one big wave to another. The water washed over us in torrents. We bailed like madmen to keep afloat at all.

Sure, now, it's queer when you come to think of it, how hard men will work just to keep that little spark of life inside of them. With no hope in view they won't give up while there is strength in them to go on with the fight.

We proved it through those days of black horror, in an open boat on a sea full of salt water. That was the awful fact that stared us in the face as the days slid by--no gettin' away from it--a certain knowledge that the water in those barrels was gettin' lower and lower.

Six days--seven days--eight days. . . . Over a week adrift, drenched to your skin all the time, cold as ice at nights and hot as fire by day. Crackers and bacon . . . bacon and crackers . . . and not enough of either to last much longer--and then what? . . .

We didn't talk much. Even the kids, when they weren't asleep in a sort of stupor, would stare out at sea. Then on one mornin' we made out smoke on the horizon! It was an hour of rejoicin'. We were that wild with joy we stood up and yelled until our voices cracked. We raised our wet shirts on an oar and waved them, but it was no use. The smoke vanished, they had never seen us.

Some of the men sat down and cried like babies. I wanted to, God knows, but it's responsible I felt for those youngsters. Now supposin', I'd keep tellin' meself, that one of them was me own kid. Would I be after lettin' him see that I'd be givin' up all hope? Not much I wouldn't, so I tried to cheer them along.

Half a cup of water a day was each man's portion. Half a cup, when you're burnin' up with thirst and there's water all around you. Just what you're longin' for and it's cool and wet and--salty. We knew it would lead to madness to drink that stuff, but we all wondered in our hearts how long before we would have to.

We found if we sucked on buttons it helped a little to keep our dry throats moist, but our tongues were swollen and our lips were parched.

There was a Norwegian aboard. He had been torpedoed before. He had great ideas as to what we ought to do, but the trouble was he couldn't speak English, and none of us knew Norwegian, so we couldn't get him at all.

Nine days--ten days--eleven days . . . the water in the barrels was down so low that I tried reducin' me drink to a quarter of a cup a day. It was then I got on to the fact that Terry was actin' queer. The Norwegian put me wise. He pointed to the ocean and patted his mouth, then he jerked his thumb at Terry. I called the boy up sharp.

"Drinkin' salt water, eh?" I snapped.

He looked up. "What's that to you?" His eyes looked hot and feverish, his cheeks were flushed.

"You cut it out," I ordered. I almost choked as I said it. What if it had been me own kid?

"All right," he growled.

But he didn't stop. At night he scooped up cupfuls of it--he and the other youngsters, and one mornin' we had four ravin', crazy boys on our hands. They were stronger than we were and when they tried to jump overboard we couldn't stop them. We did our best to save them, but they fought us with the strength of fiends. We couldn't get them back into the boat--we lost all four of them. After that I don't remember much.

For two weeks the water held out, but we were afloat four days longer. We were semi-conscious by that time--nothin' troubled us.

An English fishin' smack picked us up and took us to a lighthouse off the Irish coast. When I came to I found meself bein' fed water a spoonful at a time. Sure, I couldn't take more if I wanted to, me tongue was that thick. I stayed there three weeks, when they sent me to Ireland and I lay in hospital there for a month. From the windows I could see the treetops and a glimpse of the heavens, but do you know it seemed to me that the sky in America was a heap bluer and the leaves a world greener and, oh, how I wished for a sight of the wife and the kid!

So they brought me home and here I am. I'm not after sayin' me father was a prevaricator--no, indeed! But I _am_ sayin' that where your folks is there will your heart be also, and, take it from me, the fellow who wrote, "There's no place like home" knew what he was talkin' about! There ain't--be it County Cork or old New York!

CHIEF PHARMACIST'S MATE HALL SPEAKS:

PRISONERS OF WAR

I WANT to be a doctor, that's why when the war came I turned to the Hospital Corps. I had heard of the advantages you derive from the instruction and the experience you get in that branch of service, and, besides, I liked the crowd of men going in for it. One high school had its whole football team in the corps. I figured if it was good enough for a star quarter-back it was good enough for yours truly.

I went in as an apprentice, of course, but I soon got onto the fact that I needn't stay one for the rest of my life if I really wanted to get ahead. Naturally it meant work and lots of it, but why stay in the "pick-and-shovel" class if you don't have to?

You see, advancement entailed certain responsibility. To be a pharmacist's mate third class, you are supposed to be of immediate value to the medical officer in the sick bay of a ship. Once you are a pharmacist's mate second class, you are supposed to take charge of a Hospital Corps man's work on board ship, and in case the medical officer is away for the time being. But to be a pharmacist mate first class, it may be up to you to take charge of the medical department of a ship to which no medical officer is attached.

I went to it. I don't suppose I ever worked so hard in my entire life. But I didn't see the use of being in a corps and staying down in the coal hole when there was plenty of room on top.

Our duties could be summed up briefly: we nursed the sick, and administered first aid to accident cases. Some of us were to accompany expeditionary forces to the front and give first aid to the wounded, beside assisting at surgical operations. That was about all we had to do, except to look after the medical stores and property, and know all there was to know about compounding medicine.

But one of the things I liked best about it was a certain fact that was brought out strongly--we were in the service to save lives. Get that into your head! It was drummed into ours. We began to think we were privileged people because, while we were in the war, it just happened to be our job to save life instead of taking it.

I don't mean by that that we wouldn't relish a chance to get a crack at Fritz, the killer of women and babes, but our official task happened to be helping poor chaps back who had been laid low by a piece of Hun steel.

Once I had got my rating, I was told to report for duty on a destroyer. That just about suited me. I had been scared to death that they'd hold me at a base hospital, with no chance to cross the briny deep, and I went in search of my chum to say good-bye.

He was a quiet sort of chap, with a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that won for him the name of "Specs." He was as funny off duty as a goat, but the best corps man I have ever seen on his job. We were always together. We had plugged through the course together, and worried about the exams together, and we had hoped that fate would be kind to us and send us across on the same ship. But nothing doing. I parted from him with all kinds of promises to write and went aboard the destroyer.

The first man I saw on deck was "Specs," double glasses and all. I couldn't believe my eyes. I stared at him like a fool. And by cracky, it turned out to be his brother, who was coxswain and enough like "Specs" to pass for himself. Well, needless to say, Trace and I hit it up from the word go.

We had a few accident cases which kept me fairly busy going over, but as we came nearer the Zone I got the fever that runs in every man's blood to catch a sight of Fritz. There were some fellows aboard who had crossed a half-dozen times without a squint at a submarine and with nothing fiercer to take a shot at than a sleepy whale.

We were escorting a merchant ship flotilla--a whole flock of us. It had been an exciting day all right! Early that morning, while it was yet dark, we had made out what seemed to us to be a ring of little lights upon the water. Take it from me, we don't rush in on anything like that. It may be a German's coy trap for blowing you sky high. But we sure were curious and we circled the lights swiftly, by no means certain but that every minute would be our last. As we approached them we made them out. They were lifeboats full of men signaling wildly for help.

We flew to their rescue and picked them up. The lot of them were half frozen and barely able to tell us the old story of Fritz's stab in the dark. I had some work to do then! There were frostbitten hands and feet and ears to care for, and chills and fever to ward off. I worked over them for hours. We found out that they were the crew of a British cargo ship and as soon as it was light we landed them at a nearby port and set out to sea again.

It was a wild morning. The wind had risen to what was fast becoming a gale. Think of a gale at sea in November! Icy waves sweep your deck and toss your ship about like a ball in the water. No chance to cook a mouthful, as nothing would stay on the range long enough--hardtack for all hands and lucky to get it--stand by as best you can in case of a lurking Fritz.

The gale grew worse. I had never seen such an ugly storm. The sky was almost black and the sea was running so high that it seemed as though green mountains were crashing down upon us as the combers fell. I don't know how we happened to weather it, but once the wind died down, we saw some distance away a British destroyer, bobbing about aimlessly on that wild sea. Her decks had been swept clean, her propellers smashed, her wireless gone. She was just a plaything of the waves. We went to her rescue. What was left of her crew was certainly glad to see us. They had given up all hope of help coming before Fritz saw her.

We towed her to her base and on the way we caught a signal warning us to keep an extra sharp lookout as a cruiser had been sent to bottom by a submarine not five miles away. We left the disabled destroyer at her base and set out for our own; it was about four in the afternoon. The storm had died down, but the waves still looked wicked and the sky was a dirty gray.

Fritz was laying for us. I suppose he had seen us taking the destroyer in and he figured we'd start for home. I guess he decided to make a good day's work of it by sinking us before he sat down to dinner. Trace was lookout, and he sighted a small periscope some distance off the port bow. It extended about a foot out of water and was visible only a few seconds, but say, did he let out a yell? . . .

We charged them. Three seconds later we dropped a depth charge. That's quick work for you. Hot on her trail we were and no mistake! Another destroyer speeded up too and followed the spray that told which way Fritz was heading. Oh, he was still determined to get one of us, for he was making straight for a merchant vessel in the convoy. We dropped another charge.

At that instant the submarine's conning tower appeared on the surface between ourselves and the convoy. Did we pump hell into her from our stern gun? We did!

Up came the bow of the submarine. She was down by the stern, but righted herself and seemed to increase her speed. We were after her like a streak. We fired from our bow gun. That settled Fritz. For, after the third shot, the crew of the submarine came on deck and surrendered, by God! to the U. S. N.!

The whole thing took exactly ten minutes, but it seemed a lifetime to me!

We approached the submarine to pick up the prisoners, while the other destroyers kept their batteries trained on the boat. We weren't taking any chances, for there's no telling if Fritz, with his hands up, won't pull a trigger with his toes.

We got a line to the submarine, but in a few moments she sank. The line was let go and the U-boat's crew jumped into the water and swam to our ship. All of them wore life preservers, but some of the men were exhausted when they reached the side of our ship, and, as the submarine sank, several of them were caught by the radio aerial and carried below the surface before they could disentangle themselves.

Ten of the men were so weak that we had to pass lines under their arms to haul them aboard, and one chap was in such a condition that he could not hold a line thrown him. I saw him reach for it and let it slip through his fingers. I couldn't stand it. I climbed the rail, and, before they could stop me, I dived in. Someone dived after me. It was Trace. He felt like I did seeing a man drown before your eyes. More credit was due him, though, by a long sight, than me, for his job was coxswain while I was in a corps that was supposed to save life. Fine corps man I'd have made if, at my first chance to rescue a fellow, I'd stood by and let him go down!

We were hauled aboard with the German between us. I've never been so cold in my life. I bet you could hear my teeth chatter clear across the Atlantic. As for the German, he died in a few minutes' time. The reason is plain. I wasn't able to give him first aid, being all in myself. I know I could have pulled him through. Those other chaps were no good at resuscitation.

We had four German officers and a crew of thirty-five prisoners. The first lot taken in this war by an American destroyer.

We fed up Fritz on hot coffee and sandwiches. Our method of handling prisoners is a bit different from the Huns. They were a pretty seedy lot, but once we had shelled out warm coats and heavy clothing to them, they perked up a bit and before long the crew began to sing. I listened to them, but somehow it made me sick. I had heard how they treat our men when they catch them--they don't get much chance to sing!

The German officers told us that the first depth charge had wrecked Fritz's machinery and caused him to sink to a considerable depth. If we did say so ourselves, we were pretty good shots!

There wasn't a mark on the submarine that gave her away, but the lifebelts did. We got her number. We proceeded to port and there turned our prisoners over under guard. We felt pretty cocky over it. Or rather the crew did who had had a real hand in capturing the Germans. I hadn't done anything. Why they mentioned me in the reports I don't know. I guess they didn't remember about a corps-man's job including the saving of life--I did, though. I told you I had studied hard!

FIREMAN SEYMOUR SPEAKS:

FRITZ GETS TAGGED

I BELONG to the Black Gang. You don't hear much about us because our work keeps us below deck, and it's good hard work when you're making twenty knots--but I like it. I wouldn't change places with any gun's crew on earth, although they have more of a chance for their life if trouble comes. We have duties to perform right in our quarters in case a ship is struck that keeps us close to the engines--there's always danger there--especially aboard a coal-burning destroyer--and that's what I shipped on.

There wasn't any keeping me out of the navy. We have four honorable discharges hung up in our house. I used to show them to my kid. He's five, but awful smart. He knows all about them.

"That's from the War of 1776," he'll say, pointing to the first one.

"And that's from the Civil War, my great Grandpa fought in that."

The third one is for the Spanish-American.

"My grandpa fought in that one," he tells you.

And pretty soon, when this scrap is over there'll be a fourth one hanging alongside of the others and Bill can look at it and say, "My pop got that one in the biggest war of all."

I only wish the youngster was old enough to enlist himself. We're a fighting family. I joined the navy in 1915. I was on a battleship then, but when war broke they transferred me to a destroyer. We didn't go out until the cold weather had set in. All of us were given Arctic outfits and it's lucky we were--we needed them, believe me! You are mighty grateful for the heavy woollen pants and the jumper with a hood that covers your ears.

Destroyer duty is the most exciting of all, for, while merchant crafts go out of their way to avoid submarines, our game is to go out of our way to hunt them. It was like a game of hide and seek, with a destroyer "It," trying to tag Fritz if he'd only give us half a chance.

One of Fritz's pet stunts was to send us an S.O.S., giving us the exact location at sea of a vessel in trouble--oh, he was awful careful to see that you got it right, all you needed to do was to steam up to that spot and be blown clear out of creation.

Of course, all the calls for help weren't false. One day we came close enough to see a cargo ship in flames, and her crew being ordered over her side to open boats. "Burn the cargo and sink the ship," was Fritz's creed and if you think that being set afloat in a life-boat in December is an experience you'll forget in a hurry, you're wrong!

By the time we reached the survivors, half of them were dead--frozen where they sat, their bodies covered with ice.